The Loving Dead
by HellzLittleAngel
Summary: Matt is asleep. This seemed like the perfect time. The boy would have his heart calmed, and no one would interrupt. It's the safest route, taking into thought of the consequences again. Jonah/Matt.
1. Chapter 1

**The Loving Dead**

_I pretended and prayed it all away,_

_Searching for a place to hide,_

_But I don't need afflicting memories to fade,_

_I just want to feel something real inside._

**i**

The whispers hush down. It's silent. No... It's not silent. He can hear shuffling downstairs. _Real _shuffling, as in footsteps, not the pain-filled spirits dragging dead weight across the wood and tile. He can hear voices float up through the barrier enclosing his room, a hoarse laugh, and something being pulled along the tile. A few pairs of feet trail across the floor, and cease in the room under his. As he peeks out from his under eyelids, petrified of witnessing another poor soul enraged at him, he's surprised that they're all gone. Not a single... _thing_ with Latin words engraved in its flesh casts over him, staring with forever-opened eyes. It's... more than a relief. He can _breathe._

"Here, lay down," a faint, motherly voice commands.

"I got it, Mom."

Jonah heaves his hesitant self up to his feet and takes a few cautious steps towards the open door. Glancing back, his eyes catch on the bird painted on the wall, and immediately turns away from the sight. It's really not in his agenda to accidentally draw in more painful memories, much less attract the demons back. Instead, he trails into the hallway and manages to catch a glimpse of an old man walking out of view and into another part of the house. With curiosity edging at his mind, the dead boy hurries down the steps to see what's happened. Jonah only pauses when he feels he'd be invading their area, and stands not far from the door frame.

"Thank you so much, again." That motherly voice.

"Not a problem," He's heard that voice before... Mr. Sinclair, Jonah thinks. The man, bless his heart, cleaned up around the house and made it decent, along with his wife. The last he remembers, Mr. Sinclair had been talking about trying to sell the house, or at least hold it open for rent. Would these people be the new owners of the place?

"I really wish I could repay you..."

"It's alright, I don't mind. Anyway, it's getting pretty late. I should leave you and your boy for the night, yeah?" The old man says this, backing out of the room with a cheeky smile. Another person steps out of the room – a woman, possibly in her early thirties. Clean, blonde hair brushes against her wary face, and dark circles make themselves known under her eyes. She still smiles tiredly, despite the effort written on her face.

"Yeah, alright. Drive home safe." She says, following Mr. Sinclair into the kitchen. Jonah stares as they walk by, and he might've followed, if not for a television startling him.

He stares with expressionless eyes at the doorway, unsure whether to check it out or stay rooted in his spot. He can hear the woman in the kitchen messing with the phone, cursing almost silently to herself and, a second later, sighing in victory. An automobile outside gears up, and soon the engine fades away. After a few seconds, the black-haired boy deems it's safe to move forward, and peers into the room those adults had once been in. It looks normal – nothing _really _in it, all except for what looks to be a giant mattress on the stone-cold floor, and a... boy?

A teenage boy. Jonah can't make out the details – the boy's on his side with his back to the ghost – but he can feel something wrong. The longer he stares, the stronger the sense screams, "_No, no, no, no, not right. Not right. No good. Wrong. Wrong."_

The ghost watches with curiosity as the boy stares mindlessly at the television, before deciding to go to bed. He reaches up to fiddle with the knobs, and a second later, a black screen. Jonah can see his own reflection. Breath hitching in surprise, he turns and walks away, noticing in the corner of his eye that the boy had turned to look. The ghost closes his eyes and bites his lip, praying the strange kid will shrug it off and speak of it to no one.

A sense of desperation is washing over him, he realizes. It's... out of the ordinary, as far as that word can be used within these standards. Jonah's sensing himself on the bricks of insanity. He _needs _these people to stay here. Not only because the watchful demons have backed off, giving him a break, but because he wants to put his time into something other than building a broken wall in his mind. That boy... the least Jonah can do, for the time being, is attempt to figure out what's so insignificant about the kid.

As the woman – the mother, he presumes – heads off to the one bed, the dead boy finds himself puzzled when that kid says nothing of the sighting. They share a few quiet conversations, but before long, as they whisper their good nights to one another, Jonah catches the boy's name.

Matt. His name is Matt.

**ii**

They drag his unwilling body down the rickety staircase. His fingernails scrap the rotting wood, silent pleas for help escaping his dry lips. With nothing else to hold onto, he bangs his fists against the tile, not exactly sure _what _he's doing, and instead focusing on _anything _to keep these spirits at bay. Nothing is working. Darkness shrouds around him, and as his vision locks in on the rectangular light, he realizes too late that the door is closing shut.

Scrambling to his feet, Jonah throws himself against the door. _Not again, _he thinks, tears stinging his eyes, _please, not again. _So much for a break. The doorknob jiggles, but to no avail, it doesn't help. His bloodied fingernails curl into fists as he collides them against the delicate wood.

"Let me out!" The single ghost cries. A flesh-torn hand clamps down on his mouth, and more hands reach out to drag him back. His struggles become useless, but he continues to fight, knowing it's _better _than the memories trying to invade his train of thought.

"_Jonah!" _Dr. Aickman's voice rings as clear as day in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut. _Go away go away go away go away!_

Heavy footsteps pad in the background. Taking a peek, the black-haired boy almost wants to cry with relief. The demons aren't in front of him. No, instead he spots that kid – Matt. Now that he can view better, he notices Matt _does _look different. A regular kid's skin is flush with some color, rather it be tan or dark. This boy's... his flesh has no color. The bags brimming under his eyes help none with his appearance. He seems... Oh, what's the word... Too thin? Lanky? As if the boy's never tried going out in the sunlight. He looks almost like a...

_Like a dead boy._

A demon screeches, throwing itself at the windowed door. The scare causes both boys, coincidentally, to faint. Strange enough, their eyes close at the exact same time.

**iii**

Coming to is more painful than it sounds. He's never had such a headache like this, not even when the seances threw him into Hell. A bar of sunlight peeks out from the small window down in the basement, and shines rudely into his eyes. Squinting, weakly holding his arm up over his face, Jonah pulls himself up into a sitting position and gazes around. He's outside of the morgue, on the floor by the wall. How he got here, it's beyond him. What had happened last night? He can recall being forced into the separate room, crying out for help. Shifting his gaze down, his eyes widen.

No, he had hoped it was a dream. His bloodied fingernails prove his theory wrong.

Something had happened... He remembers Dr. Aickman's demanding tone... And... And...

_Matt._

Eyes widening, Jonah begins to feel fear eating at him. That boy is going to tell his mother of the nightmare, and the woman will find that this isn't the right house. They're going to leave; They're going to leave him with the demons again, and he'll have to find another spot. He'll have to look for a new place to hide. Maybe he should hide under the staircase, in the hidden room... No, they'll find him. He'll never get out... There's never a way out...

Distant footsteps. Jonah fixes his eyes on the staircase leading to the first floor, and finds himself shocked. Matt descends down the steps, casting his eyes about, oblivious to invisible stare.

"Matt?" The mother shouts, "Matt, did you find a bedroom?"

"Yeah, I did." He answers. Feeling compelled to, the dead boy walks towards the kid. They're the same height, if not for Matt being a slight bit taller. It must be the hair. A small urge whispers to Jonah, whispers to grasp the kid's arm, force himself into the reality where the other can see, and beg them not to stay. The demons won't like this family here. They drove off the last family a long time ago, along with the death of a newborn girl. _I... I had _tried _to save the family... the baby... Trying wasn't enough. It's never enough. _

"Down _here_?" The mother inquires, her voice laced with doubt. Jonah blinks, falling out of his stupor. A bedroom... down _here? _No, he can't stay down here. The angered spirits... She scans the room, and shakes her head, "No."

"Aw, c'mon, look, it's nice, it's cool, and the best part – its got its own private bathroom; nobody has to hear me..."

_Hear you do what? _Jonah purses his lips and takes a few steps back, studying both mother and son.

"Honey, you don't have to hide from us."

"The fact that everyone can hear me puking, it just makes me feel worse, okay?" Matt mumbles, turning away from the blonde and facing the door. Jonah winces as the teenager tries the doorknob, pushing his weight against the door. Once the woman joins him in looking through the musty glass, the ghost begins to feel left out, and eventually goes up the stairs.

On the first floor, there's little new items scattered around in the kitchen. He ignores them, though, and finds himself trudging back to his room, _his _personal Hell, where the baby-blue bird forever chirps in silence, ready to fly away. The background noise of someone knocking on the door doesn't draw any attention away from the door at the end of the hall. A second later, he twists his head a little, gazing over as two children, no older than seven, race towards him and veer off into new rooms.

"Mary! Mary, wait until Aunt Sara and Uncle Peter tell us where our rooms are!" A girl shouts, and a second later she groans. Jonah leans over the railing, watching as a young woman paces herself up the steps. By habit, he's already guessed her age to be close to sixteen or seventeen. With long, luscious black hair and albino skin, he can't help but wonder if she and Matt are siblings. Matt's mother climbs up the steps, and they both smile at each other.

Greetings are exchanged, and Jonah learns the young girl's name to be Wendy.

"Got a room for Billy," Matt's mother says, pointing to the first door in the corridor. They cross down the hallway, with the ghost following with a curious expression, "And Mary... And this..." Pausing inside his room, both girls look around, smiles tugging at their lips, "I thought was the perfect room for you."

The dead boy narrows his eyes, stepping in the middle of the room. One of the faults Dr. Aickman had found in Jonah was the fact that he wasn't very keen on sharing. Only shared with close relatives, friends; never with outsiders. He knows now he can scare Wendy out of the room, but, of course, another fault is shown. Jonah simply doesn't like hurting people. Dead or not, he can't stand the idea of seeing an innocent bystander hurt, mentally or physically. Especially if it's _his _doing.

Something catches in the corner of his eye. Eyes widening, the invisible ghost steps off to the side, catching himself in the mirror. The _last _thing he wants is to be caught.. _again._

**iv**

He wouldn't call it following. That's not the right term. Neither is _stalking_. Stalking makes him sound creepy, and following makes him sound clingy. He's _not _doing either. No, he's only... _walking _alongside the boy – Matt. Jonah still hasn't figured out what's so different with the kid. He _acts _as normal as everyone else in the house, but... Matt coughs sometimes. Not the normal coughs, the ones people make when something's tickling their throats. Matt coughs _violently, _as if to hack something up. He doesn't run around as much as the younger brother – Billy, was it? – and doesn't participate in conversations as much as Wendy. He saw the father send a sympathetic look towards Matt, and was surprised to see the teenager avert eyes and look even worse.

It's driving Jonah insane. It's almost as if they _know _he's listening in, and want to make sure he _never _figures it out. Yes, Matt is sick. Ill. He's got that much. But _with what_?

Trailing behind the teenager, both head into the basement, where the mother is mopping the tile floor. He remembers hearing Matt's father call for her – _Sara, _he thinks. Her name is Sara. Which makes Wendy... his cousin?

"Hey... Still don't know _why _you want to stay down here." Sara remarks, glancing up at her son. Matt only smiles faintly and turns to look through the dirty glass. Jonah frowns. _Why does he keep looking through there? _He wants to believe there's nothing interesting in there, save for few empty boxes that would serve as great hiding spots. _The hiding spots I used before. _The ghost squeezes his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill. Another memory... A horrible recall... He _had _to hide from Dr. Aickman. At least, for the time being. And that body... toppling over. His father had forgotten to clear the blood... the blood spread _everywhere... _He didn't mean to bump into the table... He didn't mean to make such a mess...

Safe. He's safe. The dreadful memory attempting to overtake him is gone, but as he opens his eyes, he finds himself puzzled. Matt is staring at his mother and the floor with horrified trying to be hidden on his features. Jonah blinks and looks down at the floor as well. Water sloshes along with the mop, and while Sara asks if he's alright, Matt hesitates.

"Yeah, uh... Thanks for cleaning my room." He replies weakly. The ghost frowns. A blind man would see through the lie.

"No problem," His mother sends a loving smile and resumes her job.

**v**

The demons are beginning to come out of their shells once more, ready to have some "fun". Playing cruel jokes, moving plates, whispering bitter nothings... Jonah frowns, staring down as Sara and Matt both crouch over the broken dishes. No matter what he does, it still comes back to bite him. A raging dead being had held the plates and would've very well hit the mother on the head. It _would've, _if not for the dead boy to interfere. And yet, he still gets Matt into trouble.

"How'd they get on the floor?"

"I don't _know. _I-I just- I saw them up there, and I just—"

"You know what Dr. Brooks said..."

"I _know _what Dr. Brooks said, okay? He said that if I'm seeing things, then he'll drop me from the trial."

_Trial? _Jonah, with his interest peaking, leans a little closer to Matt, watching his expressions carefully.

"But if you-"

"I'm not... _seeing _things... I'm tired, and I remember I put the dishes too close to the edge, so..."

The ghost's lips straighten into a tight line. This "trial" thing is important to both of them, and he's positive it won't be the last either will experience with the angered demons. Sighing, Jonah closes his eyes. He won't let another thing cause Matt to question his sanity. His and his family's. He failed last time... But this time he won't. It's a promise.

_I will never let you fall,_

_I'll stand up with you forever,_

_I'll be there for you through it all,_

_Even if saving you sends me to Heaven._

**i**

Stars have always caught his mind. After seances, he'd often look out his window, losing himself in his calm thoughts. Before the failed escape with Mr. Aickman, he'd be able to sit on the steps outside, experiencing the night without having a glass shutting him off. If he could have had his way, he wouldn't have been a _stupid _medium. No reason to be channeling the dead, sending one-sided conversations to the customer. If he had his way back then, he would have gone to study astrology. The stars was what he loved. The stars _are _still what he loves.

Jonah listens as the children run in the backyard, giggling and laughing, while the father chases after them. He smiles a little.

"Peter!" Sara calls, and the father pauses in his steps, looking toward the porch door. So that's what he goes by. _Peter. _The aged man hops up on the patio and Jonah hears their conversation. He hears their voices, but he processes very little, only catch a few key words, such as _pills, money, _and _dinner. _Not bothering to try and listen to anymore, Jonah raises his eyes back up to the glittering night sky. A sigh falls off his lips. Is this what it feels like to be content? He hasn't caught a break in such a long time... He almost forgot how peaceful the outside world is.

The cheerful air envelopes him as Peter resumes playing fetch with the children, the plastic disc gliding through the air without much urgency. A yawn forces its way past the ghost's lips, and instinctively he rubs his wary eyes. The dead hasn't a reason to sleep, considering there is no need to, but the blackhead rests his eyes every now and then. Not _every _night – the nightmares he has still shake him to the bone – but usually. It makes him feel more... dare he think... _human. _Less like a monster, more like a regular, normal boy. It definitely helps him forget about the trapped souls he's been a witness through with his father.

Jonah starts, his eyes turning over to his side. When had Matt arrived? The boy is sitting there, blatantly oblivious to be sitting so close to a dead being. His eyes are upwards as well, a distant look taking shape in those awfully bright brown eyes. A thoughtful look overtakes his features. _I wonder what he's thinking... _The ghost muses, leaning closer without any shame of how close the distant is, _Does he like the stars?_

"...I remember when we used to go camping, when you were young." Peter says, trying to portray a light, random conversation. His tone gives him away, and he sounds more deep, "You and I would fall asleep, counting the stars." Raising his eyes to look at his son for a second, the father turns his attention back to the burning patties, "We'd never finish. Used to drive me nuts." A small chortle is offered in the silence, but it comes off more forced than he probably intended.

"Yeah, well most of the stars we see are already dead." Matt grumbles. Jonah's lips twitch downward – what a horrible way to think of it.

Peter nods, feeling the awkwardness trying to invade, "They look pretty alive to me." A sacrificed smile.

"That's 'cause they haven't gotten the news yet." Pulling himself up to his feet, Matt turns away from his father and the night sky, and carries himself back inside. After a moment of hesitation, noting Peter's forlorn features, Jonah follows suit. He catches up with Matt with no effort, and they both travel down the stairs and into the basement. Something's off, though. Not quite right... The teenager in front of him is slowing his footsteps, an arm securely hunched around his stomach. As if trying to hold something heavy. Gradually ceasing movement-

And out of the blue, he's dashing the rest of the way down, kicking the bathroom door open and slamming it shut. Jonah hurries after him, confusion ever etched on his face.

Before the dead boy can take foot into the restroom, he can hear a terrible retching sound echoing from the tile walls. Eyebrows furrowed, he pushes the door ajar with reluctant force, peering inside. Oh... _Oh my... _Matt's stomach isn't in the best mood. Jonah averts his eyes, knowing _he _himself wouldn't like to watched while he's vomiting, and heads back to the single cold bed. It doesn't make sense. The teenager seemed fine not five minutes ago, expressing his dislike of the conversation and moving so smoothly – not to mention _quickly – _into the kitchen. And out of nowhere, he's rushing down the stairs to puke his guts out. A trial... that sickly pale skin... Yes, Matt's sick, but with _what_? He's going to go insane before he has the chance to figure it out.

A few minutes later, a toilet flushes and the sound of running water cuts like a blade through the remaining silence. Jonah stares at the bathroom door, waiting patiently for the boy to come and crawl into bed, and hopefully sleep dreamless and content. That kid needs his rest, and... and Jonah swears on his undead life, he'll protect Matt from the evils lurking for the night. _For the night, _he thinks, _I can't do it every night. Especially not with so many others in the entire-_

"Wh-Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Eyes raising up, Jonah blinks at Matt with a puzzled expression. He twists back to see if one of the children had sneaked into the basement, or maybe Wendy and her friends had been hiding behind the bed. No one is behind him, though. Looking back, Jonah's eye is caught by Matt, and both stare at each other. The news begins to dawn on the ghost.

"You can... You can _see _me?" The spirit questions, his eyes widening at the thought.

"Uh, yeah. Who let you down here?" Matt snaps, his voice and tone harsh; irritated. He sounds exhausted.

"I... I don't know." _Smooth. _Jonah frowns, trying again, "I mean, I... cannot say." Shifting his nervous gaze, he catches sight of his own skin. His arm. The flesh isn't burnt to a crisp. It's unharmed. Flushed with color. _I look like myself to him. _The spirit finds himself thankful for that – it would be hard to explain the burnt, black body, much less keep the kid from saying anything about it.

"What do you-"

"Matthew... You're ill," Jonah cuts the other off, his voice turning light and feathery, "With what, may I ask?"

He's positive, in the dead silent air, that Matt is over-thinking. He eyes are still narrowed, but he's biting his lip, a mix of puzzlement and anger battling for dominance over his features. As Matt crosses his arms, the dead boy only then realizes the type of attire the teenager is wearing. No wonder he had been startled – the boy's stripped down to his boxers. Barely even considered wearing anything. And even with this in his mind, Jonah can't help but to check him out – not in lust, or curiosity, but in absolute shock. Matt is merely skin and bone. He could be mistaken for an anorexic.

"What's it to you?" The teenager finally snarls, scowling. His tone might have succeeded in being threatening, if not for the coughing fit right after the sentence. The dead boy stays silent, afraid to anger the teen in front of him any more. He stands and turns to go.

"I apologize... Matthew... for trespassing an-"

"Cancer."

Jonah pauses mid-way in his apology, looking at Matt with no expression. The kid isn't looking at him, instead his eyes are fixed on the ghost's leather shoes. Had he heard correctly? Frowning, Jonah tries to catch the other's eye, hoping to tell him everything with a single look. His plan fails when moments pass and the teenager doesn't dare look up.

_My thoughts are with you, _the dead boy thinks, walking out of Matt's line of view and fading altogether.

**ii**

His heart hammers against his chest.

Latin words. All of those Latin lettering.

On the body.

His breath hastens, watching his own father do the job.

Something urges him up.

Brown, alarmed eyes.

Who's eyes do those belong to?

Why do they look familiar?

Soft muttering from the man next to him.

Mumbling strange nothings.

Disgust begins to write itself out on his features.

The scalpel slices through the flesh like butter.

Again, brown eyes.

Why do they bother him so much?

No, look away.

Look away!

Holding up the eyelid, Dr. Aickman takes the scissors and snips right through them.

**iii**

Jonah lies on the empty bed, closing his eyes in frustration. His thoughts are elsewhere, and he's respondent to nothing, not even when the staircase above groans from the attack of footsteps. Not even when he can hear someone in the kitchen using that strange mechanical box, something he overheard being called a _m__icrowave. _It cooks food, apparently. His thoughts aren't even wavered when the car engine roars down the street and next to the house. That means Matt and his mother are back from God-knows-where, but the ghost can't find himself to gather the motivation he needs to get up and silently "greet" Matt.

His mind remains on one thing, replaying over and over again. The nightmare. Shivers rush down his spine, thinking about it. It wasn't just a nightmare. A memory from the past. All of those wrong doings... Shaking his head, he gets onto the point. It's been bothering him all day – this quirky little thought – and will provide no relief until it's been processed fully. Last night, during the horrid memory, Jonah remembers seeing... _something _that wasn't there before. He recalls brown eyes.

The only person with brown eyes, the only person he knows, is Matthew. And that's impossible. How could a memory from the _past _show something present?

The thought from earlier clamors its idea, but the ghost shuts it up without a second thought. It's impossible. Completely out of the question.

There is _no way _Matt can be there with Jonah during the nightmares.

It's not possible.

**iv**

_Theoretically, _Jonah reminds himself, _it doesn't mean it's true._

That quirky little thought had gotten its way earlier. In some other dimension, it _could _be possible. If it's true that Matt can watch the episodes with Jonah like a movie, then it's possible that the ghost can... well, possess him. It's a long-shot – there's no way to determine the outcome. Nothing could happen, or... something terrible could morph, whether it be inside or outside the victim's body. Especially with the cancer, Jonah has to be careful. One small mistake; one wrong move, and the next time the teenager wakes up, it'll be in Eternity.

With that in mind, it honestly does none to help the situation.

Matt is asleep. This seemed like the perfect time. The boy would have his heart calmed, and no one would interrupt. It's the _safest _route_, _taking into thought of the consequences again. Calming his nerves, the dead boy places either of his hands on the teenager's shoulders. Closing his eyes, focusing his whole self into the cancerous body under him, Jonah begins to feel a slight pain. Only slight... But it begins to grow. The pain travels from his palms, starting from his fingertips and spreads further, to his arms and chest. An anguished whimper escapes his lips, the searing pain rushing down to his legs, his feet, and somehow reaching up to his head. It's making him dizzy; making him weak. He's never felt this way, except maybe... When the fire had licked his skin...

Everything vanishes. All of the hurt, all of the negative thoughts; everything. He's completely numbed.

For a second, his heart stops beating. His breath halts; nothing works.

And Matt opens his eyes. Everything is fine again, all except for the fact that the spirit inside of Matt's body is not Matthew at all. Jonah can see through the eyes of the teenager. Not just _see. _Sitting up, the dead boy is astounded. It _worked. _He actually succeeded into possessing a live person. He can control this body like it's his own. And... the emotions dwelling in this certain body are terrorizing him. His slight happiness is fading. Sadness and despair begin flooding him. All of a sudden, rage and loneliness huff into his mind as well. Thoughts that aren't his are clamoring, and all the while, the door to the tiny morgue in front of him squeals open.

A sense of exhaustion is beginning to beat him down. Jonah rubs "his" eye and heaves himself up to his feet. Taking small, heavy steps, he carries his self to the door, and walks into the room.

**v**

_Get out of me! How are you doing this?_

Not yet, Matthew. I... I have to show you something.

_Show me _what?

In due time... Calm yourself, please. It's going to hurt the both of us if you don't cooperate-

"Matt?" Light, feeble footsteps walk down the staircase, "Matt, where are you?" It's the teenager's brother. What was that name again? Billy? Jonah twists his neck to the side, spotting the small boy. He's looking all around with curious eyes, seeming to be more interested in snooping over his brother's bedroom rather than find said person. Leaning against one of the tall trays, the ghost leans all of his weight onto one leg, trying to control the angered spirit fighting in one body.

"I'm in here." He calls. His voice, the ghost thinks to himself, sounds too forced and angry.

_I don't want to cooperate! Get out of my body!_

Please, Matthew. Relax.

"What is this place?" Already inside and wandering around, Billy steps up to the rusted sink and picks up a silver, metal object. He isn't sure what it is, but it looks... cool. Spreading the sides of it, the boy watches a thin, sharp needle move slowly across the hole, and snaps shut. Maybe it could cut off a finger, or a toe. Getting a better look, Billy presses it against his eye, watching the line of silver raise up.

A creak causes him to put it back down before his eyelashes get chopped off.

The pain is becoming more and more obvious as the two souls fight over control. Matt's head raises at his little brother, but Jonah is the one who manages to choke out the words, "Hop on... I'll take you for a ride."

_What are you doing? What do you think you're doing?_

I'm going to show you.

Once Billy is lying on his back on the freezing table, Jonah takes a deep breath and moves unfamiliar hands around the surface, spinning it with a quick speed almost instantly.

"Slow down..." The boy whimpers after a moment, holding onto the sides of the surface, trying to focus his gaze on his older brother. Something's not right. In the fast, blurry image of Matt, something sticks out. Is it his determined expression? Or perhaps is it the strange way his hair seems to be more black, more long for a second, and back to its normal state?

_Slow down. Stop doing this!_

Look.

Amidst the younger brother's small shouts to stop, and the circling surface, Matt's eyes catch onto something in front of him. A little further from the table, as it swings sideways, a wooden coffin comes into view. The ghost continues to spin the boy, both seeming to be unaware anymore of Billy's now-desperate yells.

A wooden coffin.

Two people bend down, carrying a body out of its restful slumber.

Two people...

One of them looks like that boy...

That boy from yesterday night.

Jonah steps back, painfully separating himself from the teenager. He groans, rubbing his head, squeezing his eyes shut. An extreme headache is coming into view. He has to wonder if Matt is feeling the same thing. In his ears, the examination table is still rotating, faster and faster.

And suddenly it halts.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ; A ; Don't eat me, please. I don't know what this is. And please, if you don't approve of Matt/Jonah slash, this story is not for you. Anyway, I already wrote almost all of the other half, but the story is becoming mega-long, and I'd rather upload this in parts.**

**SONGS - The Stone (ASHES dIVIDE); Your Guardian Angel (THE RED JUMPSUIT APPARATUS).**

**Reviews save the poor souls entrapped in my mind. ; U ; **


	2. Chapter 2

_"Dead as dead can be,"_

_The doctor tells me,_

_But I just can't believe him,_

_Ever the optimistic one._

**i**

"Okay, so... We all know now that this was a funeral home. Big deal."

His muffled words and still legible, even under inches of wood and plaster. Peter continues to talk, attempting to convince his family that this was _just _a funeral home, nothing more. Of course, Jonah can only lower his eyes, not wanting to take in what his home had become. _This wasn't_ just_ a house,_ he wants to cry out. It was a big deal. It _is _a big deal. Because his father forced him to become a medium... Those innocent lives were lost. His father's life was lost.

It resulted in his own death.

"...Okay, so. Who wants to say grace? ...Matt?"

Grace? The dead boy frowns, propped up on the examination table, listening to the conversation as best he can. Saying grace is what normal people do before they eat... Right? He remembers the last family that was here. They were quite the religious team, and they would pray before dinner. In fact, he muses, they would pray before any meal, thanking whatever God they worshiped for food they bought at the nearest small-town grocery.

Saying grace reminded him a lot of his seances. Holding hands, heads down, eyes closed...

Jonah shivers. He can almost recall those pale faces, staring at him with hopeful eyes. Some had their eyelids shut, all of their hands holding the ones next to theirs. Two women on either side of him had held out their hand. He remembers staring at them, not yet accepting, and instead staring critically at all of them, unsure of what to do. Could he run? Escape? Surely not... He wasn't fast enough. He was never fast enough.

Mr. Aickman had stood behind the crowd like he always did, supervising the seances, his hands clasped together and his spectacles shielding his eyes from showing any sort of emotion. Always so collected... It annoyed Jonah to the very last inch of his life. His father never liked to show emotions. Said he would be weak to be _so naive_. It made him feel smaller, less strong because to himself, the ghost always had sort of an animated face. A lot of times, he showed disgust and hatred towards the dead bodies they carried into the cars and into the house. Or, at least, he wanted to.

Too hesitant, his father had scolded. _We aren't being paid to stare and do nothing, Jonah! _

"Matt-"

_Jonah... Jonah! _

_I can't do this... I can't do this..._

The dead boy had reached out, his hand falling in the awaiting ones.

His whole body trembled in violent shakes, small cries of pain escaping his lips. He knew not to make any noises such as those during seances – it would cause worry and concern to arise – but the spirits... All of them... So angry... Grief-filled... Undeniably coming forth, shouting to be heard. His grip tightened tremendously, almost to the point of bruising the woman's hand resting in his. The table shook, whether it be from the force of an unknown ghost or Jonah's own force. It didn't matter. What mattered was being able to _understand _what the dead said to him, what they had wanted him to know. And maybe he could have even spoiled what his father had done to him. Try and stop it from coming.

"Honey..."

White hot pain. Why did it have to hurt so horribly?

"Are you alright?"

Jonah opens his eyes, his hand clamping down over his chest. He tries to breathe evenly, calm his undead heartbeat, but the images flash vividly over and over in his head. He gazes around, attempting to remember where he is, _what _he is, and what's happening. He can hear silence above. Frowning slightly, the dead boy scrambles up to his feet and takes a few steps towards the closed door, but ends up pausing mid-step. He didn't even hear the two set of footsteps thump down the steps until Wendy came into view. His eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes quickly flashed with something rather... cold. She's leading Matthew downstairs; she's holding his hand. She's _holding _his hand.

The ghost frowns. Why should it matter to him? They're related – they're _allowed _to hold hands, and to hug. They're _allowed _to touch each other. But something about it irritates him. He doesn't want Wendy to be touching the boy. There's something he can't pin-point about her that he doesn't approve of. This ever-growing dislike can't be from her just moving into his room. It's something else...

"So what happened?" The girl questions, propped up on his bed. Again, that gnawing hatred.

Matt does most of the talking, repeating a rhyme with a low, unsteady voice. His eyes flicker to the morgue, before returning to his cousin's face, "...Do you remember the other one?"

"Maybe, um... Which one?"

The teenager lowers his head, his fingers beginning to fidget, "...One bright day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got out to fight." At this, his eyes flicker up, meeting Jonah's almost instantly. The dead boy blinks, staring back, a shiver running down his spine. Why a shiver, he isn't too sure. Cocking his head, Jonah listens to the rest. Has he heard of this before? It's familiar... "Back to back they faced one another; they drew their swords, and they shot each other. A deaf policeman – he heard the noise, and he came and he killed those two dead boys."

Both boys barely caught wind to what Wendy said, "Matt, you're scaring me."

"Yeah, join the club..."

**ii**

The music begins to dull down on the television. The music... and the small chatter around the room. He can barely hear the old women ahead of him, gossiping like high school girls, or the married couple off to his right, cooing over their some-month old baby, and only seeming disinterested when they speak directly to each other. People are walking left and right, and he can't hear even the softest thud. What the... What's going on? This isn't normal. Matt raises his head and casts a wary glance around, frowning deeply. Has he gone deaf? Did the cancer decide to just randomly pick up his eardrums and bust them out?

"Matthew..."

Startled, the teenager snaps his gaze to his right, his nervous movements halting and freezing up. Eyes growing wide, the teenager stares at the approaching human-shaped figure, his mouth opening and closing to form words. His voice box doesn't seem to be working; it seems to be scratched up and empty inside. It really doesn't help the situation. Fingernails digging into the armrests of the chair, his body turns tense, ready to bolt up if need be.

"What's going on?" Matt finally chokes out, his voice too coarse to really understand; his attempt to cover his fear with a hostile tone failing. It doesn't seem to deter the shadow in the slightest, and he gradually realizes he can't jump to make an escape. In fact, he can't seem to move any part of his body but his head. As if every appendage has been glued to the chair. Biting his lip, he watches the shadow close in, his heart thumping wildly against his chest. It stands in front of him, cocking its head to the side. Now, where has he seen that before...?

"Matthew..." It hisses, drawing closer and placing both of its black hands on his arms. Why does that voice sound familiar? It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't seem to grasp on to the right name. Glaring, the teenager closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut, praying to whatever is listening that this... this thing will vanish and everything will go back to normal. It's silent. It seems like it's been forever since he closed his eyes. Six, seven, eight seconds, nine-

His eyes snap open, staring with a surprised expression, unable to really comprehend what's happening. The shadow is pressing what feels to be lips on his own, very light, as if experimenting the experience. It pulls back for a second, hesitating, and dives back in for another bittersweet kiss. A warm tongue glides over Matt's lips, asking for entrance, and when the teenager refuses to comply, he begins to feel a pinch on his left arm, but no, not like a pinch. Much harder, more painful. As if he had carelessly pressed that one spot on his arm against a white-hot oven.

Flinching, Matt jerks his arm back, staring at the taped cotton on the flesh.

"Oh, now, that didn't hurt," The nurse said, forcing a tired smile, retracting the needle. Matt stares at her, his eyes full of confusion, before shifting over to look to his right. No shadow figure. It had felt so real... Was it all a dream? No, it couldn't have been. It couldn't have been...

"You were dreaming... and breathing heavy." An aged voice comments. As Matt turns his head to the source of the voice, he realizes an old man is sitting in the chair next to him, smiling kindly, "So of course, it can only mean you had a very bad dream, or a very good one."

The teenager peels the tape off and fixes his sleeve back over his thin arm, his face flushing slightly when he recalls the fantasy kiss. That thing surely didn't have the shape of a female. "Well, I've had better."

**iii**

"I'm so proud of you,"

"Of me?"

"Yeah."

"For what?"

"For working so hard... and keeping your promises. All of them."

It grins, sneaking into the backseat of the vehicle. The two lovebirds finish their conversation, and the man climbs into the car. After their lingering parting words, he begins to drive down the road, a small, tired sigh escaping his lips. He said he was going down to his office, to the place of his work.

So why does the man stop in front of a bar?

And why should it stop there? It stares without eyelids, whispering sweet, silent words into the man's ear.

Temptation is a dangerous thing.

**iv**

It feels like an insane midget is in his head with a sledgehammer. Pain comes in waves as he closes in the source. Or, at least, below the source. Standing in parents' room, he casts his wary gaze up at the ceiling. There's music playing above – it must be the little girl's bedroom. What would the angry spirits want with the little girl...? No time to ponder. He steps out of the room his old man used to sleep in and climbs up the stairs. The aching his mind has endured lessens for a few seconds, and comes back full force once again. One step, two steps, ah, hold on, hold on, it hurts. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jonah pauses to rub his temples, wincing every few seconds. Yes, he's definitely on the right track.

A flash of the poor victim wandering relentlessly through the halls tears a yelp from the dead boy. His eyes wide, he catches a small glimpse of the demon entering the little girl's room.

A second later, the lights flicker, and the power goes out.

A numerous amount of raging spirits rush towards him, neatly torn-up arms reaching out to grab and pull. Jonah cries out, jumping backwards and hitting his head on the wall behind him. His eyes roll up, and for a second, he can almost swear his undead life has been taken once more; the pain is overwhelming. Eyelids being snipped off sounds like better treatment than what's traveling down his sensory veins. Within the same second, he blinks and comes back to life, finding himself stumbling, almost tripping down the stairs, not taking it in when he hears the little girl shout. The power flickers back on, but he doesn't stop. Staggering down the basement steps, he finds himself more than relieved to see Matthew on his bed, curled up with the blankets surrounding him and earplugs blocking out the noise. All the lights are off, as if he's trying to sleep, but his eyes are trained at the window. No wonder he wasn't the least bit startled when the power surge stole the electricity.

Gasping for breath, Jonah, knee-weak, collapses against the hard mattress, leaning against the side of it for some sort of support. The cold floor under him feels wonderful, contradicting with the humid air. His eyelids fall, and whilst he focuses on breathing calmly, a startled hum is heard in the background. Oh, no... Daring to peek, the dead boy finds himself staring at a rigid, tense teenager, seeming to be frozen in shock, staring back with unreadable eyes. They both connect eyes, and something tells Jonah that Matt's had quite the run-in with a spirit, or something similar. Biting his lip, the boy lowers his eyes. He can never do anything right. Can't even protect the family from the demons _he _and his father created.

"M-Matt..." The spirit mumbles, sadness unable to hide in his tone. Closing his tired eyes, he buries his face into his arms, half hoping the teenager gets up and leaves. He wants to be alone.

A hesitant hand falls on his shoulder. Jonah doesn't dare look up, not ready to see his failures yet. When he looks at Matt now, he'll know this boy is slipping from under the fingers of the doctors and parents, all because he can't deter a few damned creatures from Hell. He can't bear to stare into sunken eyes, losing its life day by day because another spirit is taking the teenager's life. He can't bear to. And it doesn't surprise him when the hand begins to pressure him, as if to push him away. The dead boy knows he should leave.

The hand disappears, and instead slips down his arm and to his own hand. Jonah blinks, puzzled and a bit anxious, raising his head to watch as the teenager runs his fingers over the ghost's palm. The kid's eyebrows furrow in frustration. "You're cold, but you look and feel like a real boy... But you aren't, are you? Alive, I mean..."

Jonah shakes his head, "I'm deceased – that's correct."

"Am I seeing things? Are you just a hallucination?"

Blinking, the dead boy finds himself struggling, his desperate attempts to not smile waning. He can't help it – the thought is a little amusing, "No, Matt. I'm real. I... was real, I guess I should say." The small curl of the lips fades off, "I'm not among the living any longer."

"Then why aren't you all... I don't know... transparent or mutilated or something?" Matt frowns, reaching up and touching the dead boy's hair.

The spirit frowns. Why does it feel like his heart should be skipping beats?

"I don't know." He answers truthfully. Silence overtakes them both, and as the teenager's hand falls away, Jonah begins to feel the awkwardness come in waves. What should he say? He hasn't spoken to a real person in so long... years and years of silence and solitude has taken a terrible toll on him. And now, talking to an average, dying teenager, he hasn't the slightest clue what they should talk about. Jonah's positive the kid avoiding eye contact in front of him is still angry, angry because that's how most people he's observed are when they are confused. The last thing the spirit wants to do is upset the poor boy. "Mm...Matthew-?"

"You know my name," Matt states, frowning deeply, "What's yours?"

The dead boy hesitates, unsure if it's wise to give off information. Then again, no one would believe him if he were to jump out and tell his family what was going on, "Jonah."

"Jonah..." As the teenager repeats his name in a low tone, the spirit feels another excited shiver run down his spine. Pink tainting his flush cheeks, he lowers his eyes and focuses on the design pattern on the bedsheets. Certainly there's a more reasonable explanation as to why he can feel butterflies and knots in his stomach. One of his only old friends had told him what... What _love _felt like. Well, perhaps not _love, _but at least what a crush felt like, since Jonah himself never found an interest in anybody. It made the victim feel knots tie in their stomachs, and every little thing seem stupid and embarrassing. But the good kind of humiliation, the type that would make the person feel like smiling sheepishly and, at the same time, slam their foreheads against the nearest brick wall. He's can't possibly be having a crush on a living person. It's not _natural. _He doesn't even know much about Matthew, let alone know what pleases him.

"Jonah..." Matt clears his throat, something edging at his voice, making it sharper than normal. Fear? No, that's not right... Nervousness? "I'm gonna try something... Don't move."

Confusion is easily read across the dead boy's features. Glancing up, his eyes widen with a start and he jerks back, taken off guard at how close the cancerous teenager is. But Matt doesn't back off, it almost seems like he's _trying _to get closer. Jonah bites his lower lip, unsure of the other's intentions, but decides to somewhat help by heaving himself onto the bed, solving the height difference. A blistered hand rests on his cheek, forcing his head to tilt up slightly, and before Jonah can blink, chapped lips fall on his own.

Pure shock runs throughout the dead boy's veins. The feel of the other teenager's lips on his own is enough to cause those knots in his stomach to melt like ice over fire. It's unexpected – _where did _this _intention come from? – _but it feels... Oh, what's the word? It's feels _right, _for lack of a better term. It's insane, too. A deceased and a breathing being cannot be doing... _things _like this. It's absurd – the dead cannot like anything. They've had their chance, and now they shouldn't even be here. But Jonah can't help but brush off the thoughts like crumbs, paying no mind to the voice chiding in his head and he begins kissing back.

"Matt!" Billy's voice rings upstairs.

The kissing ends as quick as it started, and still manages to leave the black-haired ghost flushing and blank. He almost wants to go in for another kiss, but stops himself, reminding himself why they parted. Sending a small glance towards the stairs, he turns his gaze to the living being, watching the teenager heave himself up, and without a word, ruffle his hair and hurry upstairs.

Jonah bites his tongue, concealing a small smile. Had his mind been playing tricks on him? He's never seen Matthew blush until then.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm terribly sorry it took for-fucking-ever to update - I've been drowning in homework for weeks. D:**

**I hope none of this is too confusing - y'know, the reason Matt did what he did and stuff... *kicks feet nervously* Anyway, I'm excited to be changing some of the movie to some things I wish would happen, and stuff C: And thanks to everyone who reviewed, I know the archive hasn't been lively, so it makes me all more happier to see that people will actually send feedback. So yeah, I love you all~**

**Passive Aggressive - A Perfect Circle**

**Happy reading!~**


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